


moth to flame

by bluetint



Category: GOT7
Genre: Crack, Female Objectification, Inanimate Object Worship, Masturbation, Other, Shady Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetint/pseuds/bluetint
Summary: PSA: do not fornicate with household objects.





	moth to flame

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://twitter.com/withgotseven/status/1136431243451600896?s=20) is my only explanation.
> 
> p.s. the tags are warning enough. if you choose to proceed in spite of the warnings given and don't like it... then don't blame me for it.

It starts with an electricity bill.

The allocated funds for the dorms were always meager considering they were seven men (that stretched to ten during comeback season) and Jaebum was adamant about cutting costs and saving wherever possible which meant no more late night readings. Holding a phone up when reading in the dark did no favors to his wrist or the phone's battery time, so he decides to get a lamp instead. To Jaebum's chagrin, he uses the dorm funds.

He has a separate room from the others which is great. Because that means he can have the lamp on all night long and do whatever the fuck he wants. 

Well whatever the fuck can be done in the dim lighting of a 15 watt halogen bulb.

Over the years, the lamp became a beloved companion of sorts. Strange, yes, but the lamp had been there during longest and difficult times of the dark when he felt like the world was caving in on him and he couldn't breathe.

Actually is starts when there's a shift from companion to muse. 

It comes when they're preparing for their album and Jinyoung's trying to pen a song about being in love with a woman. Which would be amazing if he'd loved any woman or anyone before.

He's absently staring at lamp when PD-nim's spiel about envisioning the curves and lines of the female form with the assistance of an aid come to mind.

_'The sleek lines of her back, the delicate curve of her spine.'_

The lamp had a fine, elongated stem which flared out into a thick round base. The curve of the lower half was similar to that of a derrière and it was quite... _distracting._

He doesn't realize he's tracing the curve, as if it were a real ass and there's something about the cool, smooth metal that's making him feel warm. The halogen bulb casts an ethereal glow around shiny metal, making it appear glossy and dewy. Like freshly moisturized skin.

He puts both hands around it, spreads his fingers around it, curving them to fit the shape and squeezes. He's not expecting a give, but the resistance of metal against the fingers makes his dick jump. 

He hadn't even realized he was having a reaction.

It was like someone or something had taken control of his body. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he leans closer. His throat is dry, parched as if he hasn't drunk in days, which is weird for he'd had two glasses of water prior. He feels hot. Ears burning. Chest warm. The shirt feeling too much like a confinement. But he disregards that in favor of pressing his lips against the cool surface, sighing when they make contact.

The wave of lust that washes over him after that, he's not prepared for. Nor is he braced for the dizziness that accompanies it . His head feels heavy, so he falls back. Back into the chair. But his eyes don't leave the lamp for a second.

Clumsy, damp hands fumble with the zipper and slide into the briefs. The front of which sports a telling wet spot. Hisses when he grips the tender flesh, fingers slipping over it as he slicks it up with the precum and forming a loose circle around it, he starts jerking it off.

The more he looks at it the more he sees. The slender upper half that could easily be a trim, petite waist. The generous base similar to generous round hips flaring out from that waist. The cream colored shade, that was pristine and paper thin, reminding him of delicate skin begging to be marked. The gorgeous rich purple, that reminds him of silk sheets and tangled limbs writhing with passion. 

When he comes, he's not prepared for it. The force of the orgasm nearly knocks him senseless, the chair shaking from the intensity of his squirming form. He sits there, dick now limp and glistening, waiting for the world to come back into focus. For clarity to return.

As the haze clears, the realization of what just took place dawns on him. He waits for the panic, the horror, _anything_ at the thought of ludicrous event that had taken place. 

Nothing happens.

The lamp, motionless and serene as ever, sits at the corner of his desk. The bulb flickers, the tiniest flicker ever, and it reminds him of a brief playful wink being thrown. The kind that spoke of clandestine encounters and dirty little secrets.

Well then.

**Author's Note:**

> so who's going to fund my therapy
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/hoesides)


End file.
